Dulce et Decorum Est
by Dominatrice
Summary: Just before we kiss I stop, smiling against his lips. “Dulce et decorum est eh?” - L/G. AU.


**Dulce et Decorum Est**

I was curious. The problem, I had found, with being told I _couldn't_ do something, was that I instantly _wanted_ to do it, regardless of what I had thought about it beforehand.

"Ginevra! You will _not_ go anywhere near that… that, _monster_! Do you hear me?" Mum had demanded, eyes blazing, hands on hips. I had scowled from behind a curtain of hair, I hadn't really thought about it till mother had mentioned it anyway. Now, if I didn't at least get a look at him I'd die from curiosity.

I suppose I have quite a few things to be thankful for. I have a good family (true), a towering intellect (I'm being honest), good friends (for the most part)… but above all I'm really quite cunning, for a Weasley anyway, and a Gryffindor to boot. I suppose I owe that particular trait to Tom. The truth was, yeah it had been scary at the time, but the whole Chamber incident hadn't really 'scarred' me in any sense. Before Tom had gotten it into his rash, sixteen year old brain that he could bring himself back to life with my body force we'd been getting along quite well. Well, that was an understatement… we'd been _best_ friends. Like… Lavender and Parvati style.

At the end of the day, the only lingering effect the Chamber had on me was a crush on Harry (he looked so like Tom) and the tendency to think a bit too much like a Slytherin for anyone but the twins liking.

I frowned, twirling a piece of hair thoughtfully between my long fingers. I needed a way to get down to the place where they were holding the prisoners if I were to catch even a glimpse of him. After Bill discovered that Grimauld Place actually had a fairly extensive network of rooms hidden behind enchantments underneath the house proper, the Order hadn't looked back. They had taken to pilfering the Death Eater camps, stealing away some of the more innocuous initiates at first, and then slowly moving onto bigger fish. It was almost by accident that they had caught a rather large fish.

It had been amusing, in a 'black humour' fashion, when Harry and Ron had appeared in the kitchen with Him. They'd looked both triumphant and unsure, pleased with the catch they had made, but with no idea what to do with it. Once Mums shrieking and cursing had been subdued (thank Merlin for good old Ogden) Bill and Charlie had taken control, frog marching our newest captive down to one of the 'holding cells', right past my big brown eyes. Oh for the loss of innocence… you _did_ catch my sarcasm, didn't you?

You see, the thing is, I've been feeling a little neglected by Harry and so… I find my eye roving a little. Now come on, don't jump to conclusions, I'm not cheating on him! _He_ dumped me, if you remember correctly, and he's starting to piss me off with all these regretful, soulful looks he keeps throwing me across the dinner table. Its not that I don't respect Harry, I do, and he's been through (and seen) a lot… but he's still such a _boy_. I had sort of hoped that he'd get all mature and serious with the weight of the world on his shoulders, but if anything it's turned him into an immature brat.

Ah, _sigh_, I don't mean to be harsh.

It appears I've gone off track… I was talking about our newest addition wasn't I? Well, Bill and Charlie had Him all trussed up in chains, yet He still managed to look every bit the 'Lord of the Manor' or something as ridiculous, and at a glance He looked like a Lord with his two lackeys. My _poor_ brothers.

I was a bit shocked really, at how much he affected me. I had thought that I had gotten really good at hating him, but obviously it was just repressed lust or something. But then again, I used to think that I hated his son as well, but after admitting to myself that he was really quite a good looking representation of the male species I started to pity him instead. After all, the poor boy was being made to follow a pre-ordained path, they weren't necessarily his choices.

But this 'Monster' as my mother so fondly dubbed him, was a different nest of kneazles altogether (do kneazles even nest?). He had made all of his choices with a clear conscience, knowing full well what he was getting himself, and his family, into. But still, there was something undeniably attractive about him. I think it might be the way he walks, he holds himself with such self-assurance that it's hard not to look. He's not beautiful, like his son, but handsome. He really looks like a _man_. Alas for silly schoolgirl crushes.

I figure that one look isn't going to hurt anybody, he's behind bars anyway. For all I've just been boasting unashamedly about my cunning, it's pathetically easy to get down there. All I had to do was wait patiently till mum was gone, she'd left all the meals for our prisoners ready, stacked neatly in a corner; they're almost as well fed as us.

It was a harassed Tonks on charge tonight, so bringing into action my legendary acting skills (please tell me you remember my part in the Garroting Gas scam!) I offered to take down the meals to be distributed. She eyes me with both suspicion and surprise, unable to decide whether I can be trusted with the task or not. Trying not to roll my eyes in irritation I smile sweetly, squeezing her arm gently.

"You look exhausted Tonks; let me take them down… Fred and George are on duty down there, they'll hand them out." Another sympathetic look is all it takes before Tonks smiles gratefully at me, shoulders sagging as she waves a hand absently towards the stack boxed meals.

Making my way down the stairs I go slowly, I really don't want to see Him with a bruise on my forehead from where I've fallen flat on my face. Ahh, bad Ginny, I'm looking, not letting him see me! After a few more minutes I'm at the bottom, placing the boxed meals on the rickety table that's poised hazardously in the corner I turn to survey the room I'm in.

It's bare and reminds me uncomfortably of that time at The Department of Mysteries because of its circular structure with the evenly placed doors leading off to either more corridors or cells. Creepy much, let me tell you.

Neither Fred or George are present, as I knew they wouldn't be, and I'm free to do as I wish for the next fifteen minutes or so until the next guard turns up. I'm gripping my wand tightly between my fingers; it's sort of like a lifeline to me and I swear I can feel the Dragon Heartstring core pulsing beneath my fingers. It feels comforting.

Spinning in a slow circle I count the numbers on the dark, wooden doors until I find the one I'm looking for. Number Six. It seems wrong to me, that he should be in a cell with such an innocuous number. Six. Its neither here nor there really, Five would have been better, its halfway between two significant numbers. Or One, or Ten. Anything that would have stood out with a special meaning. But Six? It just doesn't sit right with me. I wonder idly whether I should rearrange all the numbers.

I'm stalling, I know, with my wayward thoughts. But suddenly the thought of looking at him is mind numbingly terrifying. If I hadn't done so before I question my sanity; this man was the catalyst to almost getting me killed. But he's so captivating. Hermione had introduced me to the concept of 'magnets' over the summer, and that's what I'm feeling now I think. Opposites attract, huh? Well… could we be _more_ opposite? For some reason, this thought gives me the confidence to approach his cell.

I'm just planning to cast a spell that will let me see through the door without letting Him see back through. I am. My hand is poised, I'm mid cast and a blurry rectangle is forming in the centre of the door, the spells almost complete.

"Do you mind, Miss Weasley?"

I almost drop my hand from shock. He's just spoken. Through the door. I can't reply, I'm speechless, incapacitated, all of that. Are you getting the picture?

"Miss Weasley?"

I only just hear him above the rapid thumbing of my heart in my ears. I'm not planning to reply. I'm really not. I'm going to turn around and walk away.

"How did you know it was me?" I find myself whispering. _Shit_.

"I am, you forget, quite the powerful Wizard, Miss Weasley. And _you_ have quite the distinctive aura." I can practically hear the smirk in his voice; it's almost hidden by the deep, smooth timbre of his voice. Almost. "Can I help you with something?" He's taunting me, I realise.

"I…" I can't finish what I was going to say, simply because I didn't know what to say before I started. I'm blushing furiously, I feel like he can see me, though I know he doesn't have his wand, its impossible.

"Did you want to talk to me?" he asks. Tone polite and questioning.

"No." I say, I'm finding myself compelled to tell the truth. "I wanted to see you."

"There's a difference?" I can hear the surprise and confusion in his voice. It makes me smile for some reason.

"Yes. I didn't want to talk; I just wanted to look at you." Not being able to see his face is making me bolder. I'm feeling my confidence grow along with, unfortunately, the cockier side of me. I'm disturbed from this thought process by his laughter.

"Am I really so enchanting Miss Weasley?" I'm blushing again, to the extent where tomatoes will look _pink_ in comparison. I hesitate before I reply.

"Yes." I almost whisper. There's silence on the other side of the door. Without meaning to I'm pressing my hands desperately against the unforgiving wood, leaning my pale, freckled forehead against the cool surface. "I don't know why… but Merlin yes!"

"Then come in and see me." I freeze. There's promise in that voice. Some distant part of my brain fancies that he's promising to make me the woman Harry wont. With a start common sense comes flooding back. I take a hurried step back. I'm shaking, my limbs feel almost numb and my head like it's full of cotton wool.

"No!" I snap, harsher than I intended. "No." I repeat, more softly. "Don't think that I'll fall for that one. Even if you are captivating." I'm breathing deeply, trying to force my fingers to still their trembling.

"You think so lowly of me, Ginevra?" I jump a foot at the sound of my name, how doe he know it? "Still. Maybe it is not so strange. You will come back and visit me though, wont you Ginevra?"

The sound of his laughter follows my flight up the stairs.

xoxoxoxoxo

"Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori." Silence followed his statement. I'm trying to see if I can hear a pin drop anywhere. "It is sweet and right, to die for your country." He translated after a moment. I find myself leaning forward in my seat, trying to get my fill of him.

"Impressive, Mr Malfoy, but what relevance it has to your allegiances defeats me." Kingsley said, stern and unmoving as ever. Malfoy smiled.

"I mean what I say, Kingsley. My allegiance is to my country." There was silence once more for a second, maybe two, before the room burst into disbelieving laughter. Tears, hot and unwelcome, gathered unexpectedly in the corners of my eyes. Why, oh why did they have to try and _humiliate_ him? He sat still, wearing his chains like they were a kings finest jewels, head held high, grey eyes surveying the scene before him with cool disdain. After some minutes, silence reigned once more.

"Would you care to explain yourself, Mr Malfoy?" Kingsley asked again, dark forehead furrowed in confusion.

"My allegiance belongs to my country." Malfoy repeated, voice soft and smooth. "I thought Voldemort was doing what was right for my country all those years ago. By the time he revealed what he truly was, what his true intentions were, it was too late. Once one is trapped by Voldemort there is no escape." He swept his gaze around the room, I fancy it lingers on me for longer than anyone else. "Especially if you have family to consider."

He has, it seems, the ability to shock a crowd to silence. I wish I possessed that particular talent, imagine how useful it would be with _my_ family. My attention wanders after that. Or rather, my attention wanders from what's being said, and fixes on His face. It's so symmetrical, so refined, it fascinates me. The thought of all that pale, luminous skin just begging to be touched, topped by a crown of iridescent blond hair has my hands itching.

A gentle pat on my arm from Dad lets me know the trial is over for the moment. I stand on wobbly legs, not so much from tiredness but from gazing at Him for so long. I've fulfilled my wish of wanting to _see _him again, but it's not enough, I want to talk with him again now, alone, like last time. My cheeks heat up at the thought of that encounter and the way I'd had to go lie on my bed afterwards, trying to deal with the pool of desire gathering somewhere between my stomach and my pelvis. This is new territory for me, let me tell you.

Throwing one last, longing look at His figure I turn to go, ignoring the aching in the left side of my chest. Curious.

xoxoxoxoxo

I can't believe it. He's stood there, at the entrance to Grimauld's one and only Library, looking at me. I look back, momentarily captivated by the picture he presents. He has obviously bathed and is wearing a clean set of simple, black robes. The simplicity of his garments only serves to make him seem more other-worldly. In my eyes, at least.

I feel my heart start beating a taboo as he makes his way quietly across the room. We are alone.

I'm not sure what I expect, but it is certainly not for him to sit down opposite me and to pull one of the books I had been reading towards him. He studies it with a critical eye.

"_Advanced Potion-Making_ by Libatius Borage. A NEWT level textbook Miss Weasley and nine galleons when new." I wince at his subtle reference to my less than desirable financial state.

"No point buying a new book when there are three copies of it in this Library alone." I say quietly, evenly. I won't let him rattle my chains. "You sweet talked them then." I blurt out, my mouth yet again engaging itself without bothering to consult my brain first. Still, he does not seem insulted. In fact, unless it is my imagination, a hint of a smile seems to play over his lips.

"Indeed I did Ginevra, indeed I did." My heart does that funny leap again in my chest at the sound of my name passing through his lips. It suddenly strikes me that Lucius Malfoy is very much older than me. That he is married and has a son around my age. What bothers me the most though, is that I'm quite happy to ignore these facts. These thoughts only came to me because he had started to play with my foot under the table.

It strikes me that it's a terribly schoolboy thing to do and for some reason the thought makes me smile.

The thudding in my chest and ears is increasing and I find my eyes being drawn upwards, first to his lips, cheekbones and finally his eyes. I know there's a vivid blush on my cheeks and a small knowing smile is in his eyes and on his lips.

In what must have been only moments later he was leaning across the ridiculously small table, eyes studying my face intently as his presence consumes me.

When his lips touch mine, I'm overwhelmed by the sheer pleasure. As he expertly navigates my relatively inexperienced mouth I forget to think, to feel. I just kiss. As we draw apart for breath I stare dazedly into his eyes, not so cold as usual I note, but infinitely endless. His pale, masculine hand rises to cup the side of my face as I lean forward eagerly to kiss him again.

Just before we kiss I stop, smiling against his lips.

"Dulce et decorum est eh?"

**A/N****:** This is a Happy Birthday fic for rowan-greenleaf! This is my first attempt at this pairing. I hope it was enjoyable, please do review and tell me what you think as I might have another wack at this pairing again if the response is good! As always, I shamefully beg forgiveness for any errors – it wasn't Beta'd. I got some facts and things from the Harry Potter Lexicon, and looked some of them up in my own books. The reference to 'Dulce et Decorum Est' came from Wilfred Owens poem of that name, though that is not where the phrase originally came from. This is non DH compliant, though it is with all the others. Review!

Thanks!

WishfulWhispers

xXx


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